


Hands

by lymerikk



Category: One Piece
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lymerikk/pseuds/lymerikk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanji's mind is clouded and Usopp's hands are soft. Mostly a drabble; I'm trying to write more nowadays. Content warning for anxiety disorder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands

Hands have always been sacred. Sanji uses them ferociously and gracefully in the kitchen, a master of his trade. Various pots and pans bubble and fizzle on the stove, letting off a sweet aroma into the Sunny's heart. It has already attracted the resident glutton, who is sitting at the table and staring at the cook's back, as if that will make him cook faster. Luffy is spouting some diatribe about how long food takes to be ready. Sanji can't hear him, because he is concentrating, waiting for another sound.

The squeak of boots. These boots squeak along the floor, and Sanji begins to tune in as he waits for the door to open. He turns and his face is curled into a big smile, but when the door busts open and his eyes flick to the green hair topping the man's head, he realizes those were not the right boots. His smile disappears in an instant, and he just groans. Catching Zoro's look of confusion and probably mockery, Sanji flips the bird and returns to his work. The sound in his head returns, uninterrupted for some time.

Dinner is finally ready, and he serves. He puts on his lovesickness around Robin and Nami and serves them their meals with an offer of a kiss. The table is missing someone. He looks around, the noise in his head, the buzzing, it continues on and on, and he can't even think. He watches everybody eat and make merry, although it isn't everybody, and somebody is missing, and it is driving him insane. He doesn't notice he's been tapping on the table until someone points it out. He isn't focused, and he slowly lowers his hand onto his lap.

Dinner passes, and it's consumed with love by his crew, his family. But someone never came to the table. Everyone seems to have brushed it off; no one has said anything. It's annoying him, and so, once he takes and cleans everyone's plates, he fills another for that missing member, and one for himself, since he felt nervous before. Thinking about it, Sanji realizes he hasn't seen this person in days, a week, even. His heart feels tight and his mind wonders where it should not, into deep and morbid thoughts, of waves, flame, and steel. Things could have happened.

He departs before anyone else, and it's odd to see him leave the kitchen first. Everyone disregards it, and they continue with their dinner chatter. Robin's wary eye is kept upon the cook. He hurries through the Sunny, eyes darting to and fro. He has not been sleeping very much lately, his mind has been playing tricks on him. Nightmares of places he'd been, nightmares and stomach cramps, unwanted sensory recall. He can feel his skin becoming sallow and empty, even though it is not. He can hear his stomach grumbling, even though it is not. These resurgences come and go. It was a cold two years, with comfort only in the thought of seeing his family again.

He breathes, deeply, smoke clouding his lungs and his judgment. He holds the tray in front of him, cigarette now lit and held between his teeth as he leans against one of the walls of Sunny's lawn. He jumps when there's the click of a door, and it slowly opens. Sanji quickly composes himself, and wheezes quietly, holding the tray in one hand and getting rid of his cigarette. The little squeak of boots, the last squeak as they leave the wooden floor and step onto the soft grass of Sunny's lawn; it's a beautiful sound to Sanji's ears, and it clears the buzzing from his mind.

"Hey, Sanji," Usopp wheezes, wiping sweat from his forehead, and smudging oil across it. He holds a spanner, or a wrench, or some kind of tool. Sanji was only a master of kitchen tools, not those for making. "Dinner ready already?" he laughs, and he starts unpeeling his gloves, revealing his soft hands and the beautiful dark skin beneath them. Sanji needs a moment to catch hold of the situation.

"Where've you been?" Sanji murmurs, prompting for Usopp to take his bowl from the tray. He does so, and Sanji follows, taking it and sitting down, back to the wall, legs flat upon the grass. "Sit with me." His cool and collected tone of voice opposes the weary and lost feelings he has in his heart. He acts casual, yet as Usopp sits beside him, his mind buzzes softly, and he asks himself if this is just an illusion.

"Working hard," Usopp answers, lifting the bowl to his smooth lips and taking a little sip. "I've been making something. Haven't come out of my cage much lately, though. Sorry." Sanji pauses, and nods, faintly.

"Did you forget about me?" Sanji asks, paranoid. "I haven't seen you in a week."

"It's only been three days since I've really been out and about," Usopp argues, furrowing his brow. "Have you been worrying?"

"I knew that," Sanji mutters, grunting and eating his soup, avoiding looking at the man. "No."

"As a liar myself, I can see straight through the lies of others," Usopp insists, watching him with sad eyes behind a pair of heavy goggles. "Is there any use trying that on me?" Sanji growls, indignant, and turns away a little more. "Sanji," Usopp murmurs, voice lowering. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, totally fine," Sanji says, although he isn't. His mind is a tired wreck and his thoughts are clouded. Usopp says nothing, just eats, and the silence is what irks Sanji. He can hear the quiet noises of Usopp sipping from his bowl, and the small taps of his fingers against it. Usopp is soon finished, and he puts the bowl down, resting his hands on his knees and looking at his crewmate. "I'm tired."

"Lay down," orders Usopp, quietly. Sanji pauses a moment, before turning completely to the side, and laying back, head on Usopp's leg. He slowly reaches his hand up to find Usopp's, and their fingers link in the blink of an eye.

Usopp's hands are a little rough. Sanji's are smooth as silk, manicured and kept clean at all times. Usopp's fingers are calloused, a little gritty under the nail; he has been working hard for quite some time. Their pale and dark fingers lace together, and the grip is tight as iron. Sanji's hand trembles as he clasps onto Usopp's, and he stares up at the evening sky, watching Sunny's idle sail fluttering in the slight breeze of the night.

That part of the night becomes a blur, Sanji's anxieties consuming him and running him into the ground. He cries, and he apologises for his idiocy, and he apologises he's become so paranoid. He says he's sorry for it all. Usopp tells him he needn't be sorry. He tells him he loves him. Their hands are held firmly and securely the entire time, even as they drift to sleep.

They are woken the next morning by the chatter around the deck. Surely there are various silly things going on, and Sanji gently opens his eyes. He is, at this point, on Usopp's lap, arms curled around the man's lower back. He has been resting his head upon the sniper's shoulder. He lifts his head, turning and tuning into the words of those on the other side of the lawn, finally able to hear clearly, paranoia cleared from his head, for the most part. There were words of surprise.

"Didn't know you two had a thing," remarks Zoro, approaching them and looking down, arms crossed and smirking. He means no harm.

"We don't have a thing," refutes Sanji quickly, getting up and suddenly becoming very energized in arguing with Zoro. Their words stab into one another like blunt knives, and Usopp grows weary of it quickly. He wonders to himself what kind of issue Sanji has in being truthful, what fear he has of being judged among a family who would accept him no matter what he did. He does not say anything, and he returns to his workshop.

Sanji is down there half an hour late; two cups of tea and a cigarette accompany him. He has come to see what Usopp is working on, but Usopp is just as tired as he has been. He is slumped over his desk, snoring quietly, beautiful black mess of hair puffy and going down his back. Sanji places down the tea and sits by him at the desk. He breathes, air without smoke. He knows his fears will return, and his mind will become clouded again. He will try to remember better this time.

Gently, he graces his thumb across Usopp's cheek, fingertip soft and gently against the dear boy's face. He traces the contours of his cheekbones, his nose, and his forehead, before softly touching his chin. Usopp is awake, and he can't help but smile. As good as Sanji's eyes may be, it's a whole new experience to know someone by touch. Sanji thinks Usopp feels like a meal should taste, and his fingertips beg to drink up every drop of the beauty in front of him. Usopp's eyes slowly open, and Sanji manages a tiny smile.

Their hands meet once more, and Sanji looks at them, sighing. "Be around more," utters Sanji, quietly, under his breath. He gently taps Usopp's hand with one finger. "Don't be a stranger."

"I wouldn't dare," Usopp smiles, sitting up a bit and gently taking Sanji's hand. He kisses each knuckle, softly, and simply holds their palms together once he's done. For now, the peace will remain, and the anxieties shall remain dormant. For now, they may interlace their fingers and keep one another safe, and for now, they may protect the mind of one another. For now, they have their sacred ritual, and Sanji, half-paying attention, squeezes Usopp's hand a little tighter.


End file.
